


The Confession of Imrazôr of Belfalas

by pasunedame



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Third Age, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 13:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16219955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasunedame/pseuds/pasunedame
Summary: A man, an elf-maid, a cloak, and a lie.





	The Confession of Imrazôr of Belfalas

**Author's Note:**

> A slightly darker take on the Mithrellas-Imrazôr story.
> 
> Warnings: dubious consent due to deception, very slight physical violence between spouses.

To whoever found this letter:

My name is Imrazôr of Belfalas, and this is my confession. What I write here I have never told anyone before, and once I thought I’d bring this secret to my grave, but I found that I cannot. I am an old man in his deathbed, and if this should be my last act, so be it. 

My daughter just left the room. She regaled me with tales of her children, about what a tiring yet joyous bunch they were. It made me happy to know that they are my legacy. Somehow I managed to leave a trace of me in this world after all. And it made me glad to see my daughter’s face shine when she speaks of her children. But then she stopped and a wistful look came into her face. “To think that once I was afraid of having children!” She turned to look at me and smiled, “I have to thank you, Father, for being such a good parent. You have always been both father and mother to me and Galador.” She took my hand in hers. “You more than made up for… for my other parent’s absence,” a bitter look came into her face for a split second, before it regained her smile. 

I could not say anything. What could I say? I have always felt guilt for withholding the truth from them, but now I find that I could not bear to do so any longer. I have watched my children grew up without their mother. I have seen how their confusion at her departure changed into sorrow and finally into bitter resentment. They have showered me with affection, believing me to be a benevolent parent who despite his many responsibilities always has time for them. And for years I have let them live in this false belief. But now I am an old man, and I should speak the truth.

My children’s mother does not deserve their hatred. I do.

Mithrellas left us when Gilmith was but eight years old, and Galador four. What good memories they have of her have been erased by their anger at her departure. I have been complicit in allowing this; let me now right my wrongs.

Let me start at the beginning.

I was around forty years old then, enjoying the rest between voyages. It was a warm autumn day, and I decided to walk in the woods, for I had spent months in the sea and missed the feel of the soil and trees. I left my horse tied at the edge of the woods. It was a beautiful day and I found myself wandering more and more from the path. Suddenly I heard faint echoes of laughter and murmurs of conversations. Realising that I was not alone, I shifted to a hunter’s stance. Slowly, silently, I crept to the source of the sounds. They came from one of the small rivers that run through the woods. Hiding behind the trees, I chanced a look.

What I saw took my breath away. Though I had seen elves before, I had never seen them like these: naked and bathing in the river. Lovely maids they were all, seven of them. One had golden hair, the others varying shades of brown. Lucky for me, they were too busy talking and laughing to be alert. On the banks of the river there were some boulders; they had put their belongings there. I crept closer.

It seemed that they were on a journey to Edhellond to meet the golden hair’s betrothed. I must confess that I did not catch all that they said, for I was entranced by the sights. I was no stranger to women, but these ellyth were more beautiful than any woman I’d seen. I inched my way slowly to the boulders, carefully because I knew how sharp elven hearing was. But as I have said before, they were too busy discussing their journey to notice. I finally reached the boulders and saw that besides their dresses, there were also some folded cloaks. The cloaks were strange. I could not discern what their true colour was; it seemed to be grey for they blended quite easily to the stones, but I thought it could be green as well. They intrigued me. I glanced back to the maids, and saw that to my disappointment they were finishing their baths. I desperately wanted to show myself, but I knew they would not take kindly to having been spied on. They were leaving the stream now, drying themselves.

I did not know what spur me. I wanted to gaze longer at their beauty, to listen to their tinkling laugh again. In my desperation, a mad idea came upon me. Before I knew it, I snatched one of the cloaks. 

I retreated back to the trees, my heart pounding so loud I was afraid they could hear it. But they didn’t, and still merry, they put on their dress. But then they were putting on their cloaks, and one of the ellyth cried out.

“My cloak! It’s not here!” She began searching around. 

“Maybe it fell off, or got mixed up with the others.” Her companion suggested. “Come, let us look carefully.”

But of course they could not find it. The elleth was now distraught, her chestnut hair whipping around her as she frantically searched all around. 

“Mithrellas,” the golden-haired lady stood up from where she was kneeling in her search. “I am sorry, but we need to continue our journey. It was a good cloak, but not so vital that we could not travel without it. ”

The elf-maid, Mithrellas, shook her head. “Forgive me, my lady, but I cannot. That cloak was my mother’s parting gift, I cannot bear to lose it. If you wish, go on. I will catch up with you once I find it.”

Her companions protested, but Mithrellas was adamant and sent them off. Reluctantly they left, after making her promise that if she did not find it by dusk she would re-join them at once. She continued her search, and I followed her silently. The cloak I had folded and hidden carefully inside my own clothes. When she had searched long enough, I decided to reveal myself. Affecting an air of nonchalance, I stepped on her path. 

She startled, too busy searching to pay attention to anything else. We stood frozen in shock, or at least she did while I was merely pretending the best I could. 

“Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to scare you.”

She nodded, accepting my apology. “’Tis alright, my lord, I was the one not paying attention.” Her tone was polite enough, but I could see the wariness in her eyes. 

“My name is Prince Imrazôr, from Belfalas. If I may ask, my lady, what errands do you have alone in the woods?”

She was silent a moment, hesitant to answer, but finally she yielded. “And I am Mithrellas, my lord. I am looking for my cloak, which I lost somewhere in my journey through this woods.”

“Let me help you then,” I offered, “for I know this woods well.” She was still wary, but her desire to find her cloak, coupled with my reassuring manner and name, convinced her to consent. Together we retraced her steps. When dusk came she became even more agitated, I offered to shelter her for the night in my home in the city. She reluctantly agreed, and I led her home on my horse. 

Thus she came to live with me in in my city. It was hard at first to convince her to stay. I invented excuses to keep her from joining her people in Edhellond, first by accompanying her back to the forest to look for her cloak. Meanwhile, I did my best to entice her to me. It was not so difficult, her being the only one of her kind here. I showed myself to be a friend, one whom she could rely upon in this foreign city. I made sure to act as honourably as I could, for I did not wish to merely seduce and leave her afterwards. I am no brute, no untutored youth stumbling in his first romance. I had learnt how to romance a woman. Slowly but surely, she warmed towards me. 

One day, came the news that the Elven-lord Amroth had drowned. This distressed Mithrellas greatly, and at first I worried that she would insist on leaving. But when no news came regarding her lady, when people began to presume that she was lost, or had died somewhere, Mithrellas was dejected. All through this trouble I continued to act as her friend, and she came to trust me greatly for my consolation. A year or two after this, we were wedded.

It was the best years of my life. Mithrellas was a pleasant companion, doing her best to behave as befit her station in this new home of hers. Though among her people she was simply a lady’s maid, here she was a Prince’s wife. And how she fit the role! She was more beautiful than the noblest ladies, with that inherent Elven grace running through her body. Her chestnut hair was softer, more luscious, reflecting the sunlight so brightly. I could see the envy in my men’s faces when they beheld us together. The people were in awe of us. They thought I must’ve been blessed, for being able to espouse one of the Firstborn. If they admired me before, they admired me all the more now that I secured myself an Elven wife. 

That is not to say we were always happy. Sometimes sorrow came upon her, but I made sure to always provide distraction.

A few years after our marriage we were blessed with a daughter, Gilmith. Though she followed my fate of being mortal, she retained her mother’s ethereal beauty. Mithrellas was peaceful; her periods of sorrow came less and less. Four years later we were given a son, Galador. He too, retained his mother’s beauty, but fortunately inherited my love for the sea, even from his young age. I thought that we were happier than ever. I did, until that fateful night came.

Sometime after my son turned four, I returned to my rooms after a meeting with my councillors. The meeting had run late to midnight, and I was tired. All I wanted to do was to bathe and then slip into Mithrellas’s room. 

I opened the door to my bedchamber. The fire crackled in the fireplace, for it was late autumn and the weather was cold. The moonlight shone through the windows; someone had drawn the curtains. Mithrellas kneeled in front of a chest, her back to me.

“Why aren’t you in bed already, my dear? Is there something you wanted?” 

She turned to face me. On her hands lay a grey cloak, folded neatly. 

Oh, that damned cloak! I wanted to scream, but I was rooted to the spot. It had lay hidden in that chest for years, and now when I had ceased to fear its discovery, it reared its ugly head at me.

But why did you keep it, you may ask. Why didn’t you throw it away, or burn it?

The truth is, I don’t know. It was curiosity at first, for I desired to know how the cloak works. Later on it was because I found the cloak useful in some of my journeys around Belfalas. It kept me hidden from others’ gaze, a powerful weapon when needed. But I cannot really say the exact reason. I now think that some powers out there must’ve disapproved of my deception and made me keep it despite reason.

But Mithrellas should have never found it. I kept it at the bottom of the chest, hidden beneath all sorts of trinkets from my voyages. More importantly, she rarely came into my rooms. She should not have found it! Until this day I know not what she was doing in my room. 

My silence must have confirmed her suspicions, for she paled even more when minutes passed and I said nothing. “So you stole it then,” she whispered, so low I could barely hear it. Then raising her voice, she accused me, “You stole it!”

“Mithrellas, dear,” I began, “Please, I – I can explain.”

Of course she did not listen. She clutched the cloak to her chest. Her eyes, which this afternoon still looked upon me with affection, were now filled with anger. “All these years you – you deceived me. You act as if you saved me but you were the reason I was lost in the first place!” A single tear streaked down her face. “Oh, if it weren’t for you I would’ve gone with my kin, I would still be among my people.”

I frantically searched for any words, anything, that might calm her down. But all my smooth tongue left me in that moment. I, who had spent years soothing her, could now find no words. 

She was unfolding the cloak now, and putting it on. Her movement had none of her usual grace, it was jerky. “I – I have to leave. I cannot stay here any longer.” Her voice was rough.

I sprung and caught her arm. She shrieked and pushed me off. “Mithrellas, no, you can’t leave!” My mind was running for excuses. “Think about our children!” 

That did the trick. She stopped, her lips still quivering. Her eyes flicked from the door to me, back and forth. Carefully, as if approaching a skittish colt, I inched closer. “You would not leave Galador, would you? He is but a child, he needed his mother still.” Hesitation crept into her face. “And Gilmith, too. Will you leave and miss her youth?”

Mithrellas closed her eyes and swallowed. She began shaking her head. “Surely, Mithrellas,” I kept my voice soft. “Surely you love them?”

She stopped shaking her head. Neither of us said anything for a long time. I made sure to stay between her and the door. Then finally, she spoke.

“I do. I love them. But,” and here a pained look came upon her face. “But if I stay, I will remember your deception every time I look at their faces. And then – and then I will grow to resent them, as I have begun to resent you even now.” She steeled herself. “No. Love them as I do, I have to leave. Or I would not love them anymore and harm them through it.”

I despaired. I could not keep her, and she would not stay. In my desperation, I once again tried to grab her, but she evaded me, ran to the open door, and was gone before I had time to comprehend. I had grown complacent, it seemed. I had grown used to her Elven grace, but forgetting her Elven agility. Now I was left alone in my room. 

I barely remembered the hours I spent sitting afterwards. There was no point of trying to find her. In the morning, I started my day as usual. It wasn’t until breakfast that people began to wonder where Mithrellas was. I feigned ignorance, and soon everyone realised that she was gone. There was fear that she had been kidnapped, so I led a search party myself. I knew we would never find her, but I went through the motions anyway, for the sake of the children. After weeks with no demands of ransom, people finally concluded that she had run away, not kidnapped. My children kept asking where their mother was, until finally they only cried. As time went by, sorrow turned to anger. 

I poured what love remained in me to them. I owe them that for driving their mother away. Sometimes I thought to tell them the truth, but fear of their hatred stopped me. Besides, I was the only parent they had left. What point is there in making them hate their remaining parent and pining for their missing one? It was better they did not know, I decided.

But I am an old man now. An old man on his deathbed. I am finally free to unburden myself. And so was the truth about Mithrellas and me. She deserved none of our children’s scorn. I, and only I, deserved it. Should my children ever learn the truth, I hope they would forgive me.

I have never heard anything from, or about, Mithrellas. It was as if she had vanished into thin air. I do not blame her. I hope one day she too could forgive me. 

Third Age 2076  
Imrazôr of Belfalas

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the legend of Jaka Tarub and Nawang Wulan. 
> 
> Feedback (esp constructive criticism) is appreciated.


End file.
